


Forever Constant

by Pelahnar



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelahnar/pseuds/Pelahnar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll always be there and she always has been. She doesn't age and neither does he. He never changes and neither does she. They are similar in so many ways - but what's more important is how they are different. Scenes from the lives of Jack and the fortune teller girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1869

She was there when he arrived; she'd been able to feel him coming for a long time. Years it seemed. Maybe longer. Maybe the feeling had always been there, just gradually building until it had brought her to this location, at this moment.

The girl didn't blink when a blue-rimmed hole opened in the air, nor when it roughly deposited a man onto the ground. Why should she be surprised, after all? It wasn't as though she hadn't been expecting something of the sort to happen. No form of arrival that was considered "normal" could possibly have pulled her like that. And anyway, if the way he had come was unconventional, the man himself was nothing less.

He was...different. That was the only word she could come up with that really fit. Different. He was _so_ different, but she couldn't put her finger on why. His clothes weren't exactly right, true – in fact, they were so outlandish as to be called futuristic – but that had nothing to do with it. By most people's standards, she supposed he was good-looking, but that wasn't it either. It had nothing to do with what he _looked_ like – or sounded like, or smelled, or acted. The difference was in _him,_ in his very being. It was something that would never change.

The man stood, grimacing with pain and breathing heavily, and she shrank back into her shadowy alley. This was not the right time to be seen . He turned round in the street several times, probably trying to get his bearings. He never once glanced in her direction.

She turned to go. She didn't know what caused the difference in him. And, while she did _want_ to know, now was not the time to figure it out. She was sure to see him again, no doubt about that, and _then_ she would try to learn exactly what was so different about him, and what that difference would cause. No matter what, she knew she'd be able to find him, as soon as she decided to look. He would always be there.

He would _always_ be there.


	2. 1892

As she'd expected, the girl had no difficulty in determining where the different man was, once she thought to look again. Getting there proved to be harder, as it required sneaking onto of a ship bound for America and hiding below deck for the duration of the trip, but now that the desire to find the different man had taken hold of her, nothing that stood in the way – even the Atlantic Ocean – seemed to be a problem.

She found him in a bar on Ellis Island, drinking for hours and telling impossible stories to the other patrons. While they seemed to be enjoying listening, he spoke morosely and she never saw him crack a smile, despite all the alcohol he was consuming. He looked much worse off than he had when she first saw him. The years, it seemed had not been kind.

Twenty-three years. Twenty-three years had passed since the blue hold had brought him to her. The time showed on him, yes, but in the dirt and blood that caked his skin, in the rips and tears in his clothing. Not in his face though. To look at his face, those 23 years may as well have been 23 days. She smiled.

Was that the difference then? Did this man not age as others did? Surely that was too simple, the easy answer. And it brought questions along with it: how had it happened, and when? He had apparently aged for the first 35 years of his life or so and stopped there. Was he actually much older than that or had there been an event to halt him in the natural progression of life?

Her second question was more difficult to put to words. It didn't seem to her that a man who didn't age should seem so different, as he did. From everyone else, yes of course – but he was also different from _her._ He should've had an air of similarity to her, not feel so very different.

Suddenly, she realized the bar was full of raised voices and clattering chairs that were pushed aside as the different man and those surrounding him jumped to their feet in anger. She couldn't discern what there were arguing about, only being able to catch a word here and there. One was "doctor". Before she could hear any more, however, a gunshot broke through the din.

The different man keeled over, clutching his chest.

For a long, shocked moment, she could hear nothing but his laboured breathing. Then, as he breathed his last, silence rang in her ears. She didn't understand. The different man _couldn't_ be dead! It just couldn't be!

Even before her shock had worn off, the others in the bar were laughing once more. Someone called for the body to be disposed of, and two men came to haul him away. She watched, motionless, as his lifeless body disappeared through a back door, probably to be abandoned in some back alley. Inexplicably, she felt herself calming. This was not the end of the different man, she was sure.

Even now, she knew he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	3. 1899

When, seven years later, she encountered the different man again, she was not surprised. Pleased, yes, that he had survived death by gunshot, but not surprised in the least. Somehow, she'd know that it would take more than that to kill him; assuming that anything could kill him at all.

And somehow, she knew it was now time. She didn't know why, but now, thirty years since first seeing the different man and feeling compelled to only watch and seek and find and think about him, it was finally time. Time to come out of the shadows.

"Can I read your cards?"

He looked up at the sound of her voice and for the first time in all the decades, their eyes met.

Would he see her for who she really was? Or would he, like everyone else, see only a child, a little girl of twelve? She saw no change in his expression as he regarded her. No sign that he felt the way in which they were different – different, and yet, connected in a way she had yet to figure out. Whatever it was, he didn't see it.

After only a moment, he declined her offer and went back to his drinks.

Or rather, he tried to. She wasn't about to take no for an answer after having waited so long, and so sat down next to him without permission, throwing his mugs aside carelessly.

"No, really," he started, and she silenced him with a glance. He made no more protests as she laid out the tarot cards.

She could see more in his cards than she'd ever seen in anyone else's. Future events flashed across her vision in a blur, though most of them she couldn't distinguish from the rest. The one she _could_ clearly see was the most important thing for him to know right now, so she spoke. "He's coming, the one you're looking for."

Interesting. As she read the cards, she found that the one he was looking for was a great traveller, an ancient wanderer; a hero and a healer. Presumably, though, he did not need to be told that. His expression showed that he already knew to whom she was referring. "The century will turn twice before you find each other," she finished and sat back in the chair.

The different man tried to laugh it off – as would most who heard such a prediction – and she felt the corners of her own lips twitch ever so slightly. Because she hadn't heard him laugh before.

Maybe it was her slight smile, maybe it was the fortune-telling, or maybe it had just taken some time for him to feel the connection between them but now, she knew, he _could_ feel it. His laughter died and his expression turned grim. "You mean I have to wait a hundred years to find him?" the different man asked hoarsely, picking up one of the cards. "What'll I do in the meantime?"

He was no longer denying the fortune. In fact, he seemed to have accepted it as truth. Of course, he'd already spent 30 years without ageing a day, so getting a fortune that assumed he would live another century wasn't too much of a stretch.

She had no answer to his question, so she said nothing. Not that he really seemed to expect her to reply. Suddenly, he appeared to reach a decision and stood. With barely an acknowledgement to her, he left, to where she didn't know. But it didn't matter, really, what he did in the meantime.

Because, as always, he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	4. 1900

While she had, as always, fully expected to see him again, she was a little surprised that he was the one to initiate their next meeting. And less than a full year after the first!

Assuming that whatever had made him immortal had happened not long before she first saw him – and she was fairly certain it had – he _was_ a lot younger than she. And so, she supposed, he would be less patient, more curious. Not that she wasn't curious. She simply understood that there was no need for rushing these things.

She was sitting on a park bench, quietly reading when she felt his approach. "Who are you?" he asked, taking a seat next to her. Not bothering with a greeting, she noted. She didn't look up as she answered.

"I am no one."

"No on," he repeated flatly. "Well, that makes two of us."

"You are not no one, Captain," she said, still focussed on the book. "Quite the opposite."

"How did you know - ?"

He cut off abruptly as she finally raised her eyes to meet his. How did she know the rank? It was just something she knew because she needed to, as with her earlier fortune-telling. If he was going to accept the fortune, he might as well accept that she know this, too.

The same thoughts seemed to be going through his head. Or, perhaps they _were_ his thoughts, mingling with her own. She didn't know, nor did she particularly care. The important part was that he understood.

After a short pause, he went on. "You must have a name though."

"Must I? Why must I?"

She could almost feel the answer building; _everyone_ had a name. The response, naturally, would be that as she was no one, she was not included in "everyone". But she had no need to give the response, because he never gave the answer. This time, she was nearly certain they were sharing thoughts.

For some time, they sat in silence, although it was not uncomfortable, at least not for her.

"I have to go," he announced finally. She nodded once, accepting the statement. After a brief hesitation, he added, "Thank you."

These words surprised her as nothing else had for a long time. A _very_ long time. "For what?" she enquired, almost warily.

"The fortune," he answered. "I don't usually go for fortune-telling, but..." he trailed off. "Thanks."

Then he stood up and walked away. She found herself smiling as she watched him leave, because she knew he'd be back one day. That wasn't something she could be sure of with anyone else.

It was nice to know that he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	5. 1907

"You haven't aged," he said, sitting down across the table. "You should be at least 20 by now, but you haven't aged a day."

She watched his expression carefully as he spoke. It wasn't really like he was asking a question, just making an observation. "You don't seem surprised," she told him.

"I'm not," he said. "Actually, if it had turned out you really were as young as you look, _that_ might have surprised me."

Tilting her head slightly to one side, she asked. "And why is that?" She remembered feeling the same, when she had first seen that he was no older after twenty years. She wondered if the reason was the same.

He didn't speak for a few seconds. "Because you're...you're different. You're different and I don't know why."

She smiled, satisfied. It was exactly the answer she'd expected. "You don't age, either," she pointed out. "It's more than that, though, with you. You don't age – and you can't die."

He nodded slowly, "I can't. But why not?" She didn't answer, only shaking her head. Suddenly, he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Listen. Those cards of yours – I don't think they really tell the future." She started to protest, but he quickly went on. "I think what they really do is form a psychic medium between you and whoever you're reading them for. You probably don't know what that means - " She didn't, and was slightly disturbed that he seemed to know more about her craft than she did. " – but I'm not going to try explaining it.

"However, if I'm right, then it means you should be able to use them to look into the past as easily as you do the future. More easily, even. So here's my question: What happened to me in the past? Why can't I die?" He finished and sat back again.

Intrigued, she took out her tarot cards. She'd never thought to use them to solve the mystery of the different man before. And no one had ever asked for information about the past, either. She wasn't sure how well it would work, but was quite willing to try it.

She laid the cards on the table carefully, focussing on finding the answer to his question in them. "You first died fighting an enemy of all the universe…" she said slowly, glancing up at him for confirmation, which he gave in the form of an impatient nod. "And…it was the Bad Wolf. The Bad Wolf gave forever and took away all else."

She fell silent and watched his reaction closely. "The Bad Wolf..." he mused quietly. "I might've known." After a few moments of thought, he added. "Is that all there is, then?"

She nodded.

"Well, it's something, anyway."

He left not long after that, but she stayed where she was for some time, thinking. She thought she knew, now, why he seemed so different from her. He was alive, so very much alive and always would be. The Bad Wolf had granted him eternal life – and eternal life had nothing to do with her, did it?

She wondered about this Bad Wolf. The cards had given her no more than the name. Whatever it was, though, she knew one thing for certain: it was the reason he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	6. 1914

"Captain?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice, then relaxed when he saw her. "Oh, it's you again. I was worried you were...someone else."

Frowning, she crossed her arms and tried to figure out what was different about him – more different than usual, of course. He seemed tense, uncomfortable. And he almost seemed to be in hiding, sitting as he was, on the ground in a back alley. She had only been able to find him because she always could. "Who did you think I was?" she inquired.

He didn't say anything for a minute, just looked up at her. When he finally spoke, it was to ask a question of his own. "How did you become a fortune-teller?"

She blinked, but answered slowly. "I do what I know, as does everyone. It's all we _can_ do."

"I suppose," he agreed. "But maybe what we know isn't always what we should be doing." Then, inexplicably, he started laughing. "Oh, God, now I sound like you. All cryptic and deep..." He trailed off, the laughter dying.

She watched him silently. Something had definitely changed about him over the past seven years, but she couldn't see what. That fact alone was worrying. Hesitantly – for the alley was not the cleanest place and sitting in it was not something she particularly wanted to do – she lowered herself into a kneeling position in front of him. "Captain, something's bothering you and you're hiding it from me. Why?"

He looked confused. "You're asking why, not what? 'What' would be easier."

"Yes, but 'why' is more important."

He sighed. "Why would I hide something from you?" She nodded. "Well, why shouldn't I? It's not like I know you that well."

She didn't say anything, but she dropped her eyes from his. She didn't understand how he could say that; she felt like she'd known him for centuries, rather than decades. And she didn't really feel like the time she'd spent watching him had contributed much to that. She'd only been watching, after all.

But he was going on. "That is, I _shouldn't_ know you that well. Except I do. Or I feel like I do, which doesn't make any sense."

She looked up again, a small smile on her lips. So he _did_ feel the same, he just didn't understand it. "Talk to me," she said quietly.

He complied. He talked of the man he was looking for, the one she'd seen in his cards – he called this man "the Doctor". He then described an organization, Torchwood, that thought the Doctor was their enemy, because they didn't understand who he really was.

"I'm one of the Doctor's best friends and now I work for people who see him as a threat to be eliminated," he finished bitterly.

"Are they likely to succeed?" she asked.

"In eliminating him? Not a chance. But that's not the point – I _work_ for them!" He said angrily.

For just a moment, she felt that the anger was actually directed at her. After a moment of concentration, she realized why – he'd originally taken the job because of her fortune that he'd have to wait so long to find this Doctor.

The feeling of blame vanished almost as soon as she learned what it meant. If he had even been aware of the feeling, he gave no indication of it. "I'm supposed to be on assignment for them now. But...I'm not hiding! I'm just...avoiding them for awhile." He seemed to sense her scepticism and changed the subject abruptly. "There's going to be a war in a few months. A war that will involve most of the world. I think I'll go fight in it. Give myself a chance to get away from Torchwood for awhile."

Though she had heard nothing of a war, nor seen any indication of one in the cards, she found that she didn't doubt that he knew what he was talking about. "Interesting," she murmured.

"What is?"

"I'm the fortune-teller," she answered. "But you're the one with knowledge of the future."

She did not ask where he'd gotten it. She didn't really need to, because she already knew – he knew the future because it was in his past. He remembered it.

She did wonder, though, whether his memory of the future was part of the reason that he would __always__ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	7. 1925

"Captain?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice, then relaxed when he saw her. "Oh, it's you again. I was worried you were...someone else."

Frowning, she crossed her arms and tried to figure out what was different about him – more different than usual, of course. He seemed tense, uncomfortable. And he almost seemed to be in hiding, sitting as he was, on the ground in a back alley. She had only been able to find him because she always could. "Who did you think I was?" she inquired.

He didn't say anything for a minute, just looked up at her. When he finally spoke, it was to ask a question of his own. "How did you become a fortune-teller?"

She blinked, but answered slowly. "I do what I know, as does everyone. It's all we _can_ do."

"I suppose," he agreed. "But maybe what we know isn't always what we should be doing." Then, inexplicably, he started laughing. "Oh, God, now I sound like you. All cryptic and deep..." He trailed off, the laughter dying.

She watched him silently. Something had definitely changed about him over the past seven years, but she couldn't see what. That fact alone was worrying. Hesitantly – for the alley was not the cleanest place and sitting in it was not something she particularly wanted to do – she lowered herself into a kneeling position in front of him. "Captain, something's bothering you and you're hiding it from me. Why?"

He looked confused. "You're asking why, not what? 'What' would be easier."

"Yes, but 'why' is more important."

He sighed. "Why would I hide something from you?" She nodded. "Well, why shouldn't I? It's not like I know you that well."

She didn't say anything, but she dropped her eyes from his. She didn't understand how he could say that; she felt like she'd known him for centuries, rather than decades. And she didn't really feel like the time she'd spent watching him had contributed much to that. She'd only been watching, after all.

But he was going on. "That is, I _shouldn't_ know you that well. Except I do. Or I feel like I do, which doesn't make any sense."

She looked up again, a small smile on her lips. So he _did_ feel the same, he just didn't understand it. "Talk to me," she said quietly.

He complied. He talked of the man he was looking for, the one she'd seen in his cards – he called this man "the Doctor". He then described an organization, Torchwood, that thought the Doctor was their enemy, because they didn't understand who he really was.

"I'm one of the Doctor's best friends and now I work for people who see him as a threat to be eliminated," he finished bitterly.

"Are they likely to succeed?" she asked.

"In eliminating him? Not a chance. But that's not the point – I _work_ for them!" He said angrily.

For just a moment, she felt that the anger was actually directed at her. After a moment of concentration, she realized why – he'd originally taken the job because of her fortune that he'd have to wait so long to find this Doctor.

The feeling of blame vanished almost as soon as she learned what it meant. If he had even been aware of the feeling, he gave no indication of it. "I'm supposed to be on assignment for them now. But...I'm not hiding! I'm just...avoiding them for awhile." He seemed to sense her scepticism and changed the subject abruptly. "There's going to be a war in a few months. A war that will involve most of the world. I think I'll go fight in it. Give myself a chance to get away from Torchwood for awhile."

Though she knew nothing of a war, she found that she didn't doubt that he knew what he was talking about. "Interesting," she murmured.

"What is?"

"I'm the fortune-teller," she answered. "But you're the one with knowledge of the future."

She did not ask where he'd gotten it. She didn't really need to, because she already knew – he knew the future because it was in his past. He remembered it.

She did wonder, though, whether his memory of the future was part of the reason that he would __always__ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	8. 1933, part 1

The next time she saw him, he walked right up to her in the street and, without a word, held out an envelope. Looking curiously from him to the letter, she accepted it. She turned it over and nearly laughed when she saw to whom it had been addressed:

_The not-young girl who reads tarot cards and does not have a name_

It was, at any rate, clear who was meant by it. Nonetheless, she glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. In response, he shrugged. "Didn't know what else to put."

Smiling, though feeling slightly sorry for him – at least she had a name to put to him, though she felt no need to use it – she opened the envelope. As she read the enclosed letter, however, her smile faded and her eyes widened in disbelief.

After staring at the paper in her hands for a minute, she finally looked up and spoke, "This is a wedding invitation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	9. 1933, part 2

"You're...you're inviting me to your wedding?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He seemed taken aback by the question. "Well, why not?" She didn't answer, just continued to stare, and he sighed. "I don't know why. I have no family and few friends on this pla – I mean, in this ti – that is...here." She noticed the slips, but had no interest in his attempts to cover up them up. She hadn't actually _known_ he was from another planet or time period, although she could've guessed it – but anyway, she didn't care.

"And...?" she prompted. The invitation had taken her completely by surprise. Considering how well she felt she knew him, any unexpected action of his was going to go through intense scrutiny by her.

"And...you're one of them," he said, sounding slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps because she was still staring. She made herself blink, something that she sometimes forgot to do when shocked, and glanced down at the letter briefly before looking up again. "Not _just_ one of them, even. You're my oldest friend on Earth." He frowned suddenly. "Probably literally. How old _are_ you, actually?"

"Four hundred. And fifty. I think." She murmured the answer to the question, ignoring his surprise at the number. "And I haven't been to a wedding for most of it."

"So, is that a 'no' then?"

"I don't know," she said slowly. "I have to think about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	10. 1933, part 3

Several hours after she had received the wedding invitation, she lay in the rarely-used bed in her current place of lodging, turning the paper over and over in her hands.

She hadn't been able to come to a decision, yet, about whether she would go. She had never thought she would be in this situation – and now that she was, she couldn't picture herself actually attending the wedding. Neither could she imagine rejecting the invitation.

If she went, what would happen? She had no parents, and of course people would find that odd, considering her appearance. And if she was asked who she was, what could she say? "'I'm the Captain's fortune-teller...'" she muttered, trying one possible answer and discarding it. She then remembered how the letter had been addressed. "'The not-young girl who reads tarot cards and does not have a name.' Or else... 'I'm the oldest friend of the groom.'"

That was something she could quite seem to comprehend – not that he'd called her his oldest friend, _that_ she understood perfectly. But that he was going to be a groom. He was getting _married._ It was something else she couldn't picture, as hard as she tried. The proof was right in front of her, on a piece of paper handed to her by the man himself.

None of this had completely convinced her, however, which might've contributed to why she couldn't decide about whether to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	11. 1933, part 4

Eventually, she'd realized there was no option – she had to go to his wedding, if for no other reason than to convince herself it was really taking place. Otherwise, she knew she would never actually be sure about that.

She didn't have to attend openly, though. She could stick to the shadows and he would be able to tell she was there, while no one else had to even notice. She was very good at going unnoticed, when she wanted.

During the ceremony, she couldn't help wondering what the point was. The point of getting married. He was going on a hundred years old – at least. And he was going to live so much longer, perhaps forever. No matter how long his wife lived, the marriage would last a blink of an eye in his lifetime, eventually. Why, then, should he bother?

Except...assuming _she_ had appeared old enough to get married, this logic would've been more than enough to convince her not to marry – as it was, she preferred not to get into long term relationships. But, however similar their situations, he was _not_ the same as her. She'd always known this. She _existed_ in life – he lived through it. That was really the fundamental difference between them.

Marriage was part of living. And, as she watched from the back of the room, she could tell he was happy with that.

After the wedding, she stepped out of the shadows briefly to catch his eye. They exchanged a nod of greeting and she turned away. As she left, the bride asked who she was.

"She's a friend," he answered. "A very old friend."

She though she heard the woman laugh at that. How could a little girl be an old friend? Well, how could a man a century old look like he was in his thirties? She vaguely wondered whether the woman knew about his age and immortality – and, if not, how she'd react upon finding out about it, if she ever did..

None of that was really important though. What was important was that despite everything, he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	12. 1941

She was in London. There was a reason for this. She was sure there was. Would she really come to a city that was being bombed, in the midst of a war, for no reason whatsoever? Of course she wouldn't. She had more self-preservation than that. Unfortunately, just because she knew she must have a reason didn't mean she knew what it was.

It had been a feeling. Actually, it had felt like the time she'd been drawn to see the Captain arrive, by way of the blue-rimmed hole in the air. A _lot_ like it, almost enough like it to make her think that it was, in fact, the same feeling. But it couldn't be – he could only arrive once, couldn't he?

She should've known better than to make any such assumption, especially where he was concerned.

His arrival, this time, was not exactly the same – but neither was it entirely different. Instead of being dropped out of thin air, this time he seemed to simply step out of it. It was much more controlled, she thought.

As she watched, she noticed something odd about him. For several long seconds, she couldn't figure out what it was and even wondered why she was trying. He was always different, of course...except that was exactly the problem – he _wasn't_ different this time.

This realization startled her so that she stumbled backward a few steps. It wasn't him, it couldn't be. It looked like him, had the same outward appearance in every way – including clothing style – but it didn't feel like him, and that was what was most important.

Whoever he was, he was _not_ her Captain – he wouldn't understand her, he wouldn't even know her. And her certainly wouldn't give her the feeling that she always got from the Captain. The feeling that she so desperately needed.

Suddenly, she started running. She had the vague idea that she was going to keep running until she got home. Back to the city where, if she saw him, she could be sure it _was_ really him and not just someone who looked like him.

Back to the feeling that he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	13. 1946

Perhaps she wasn't as patient as she had once thought herself to be. The war that involved the world – the second such, this century – it was over. It had been over for less than a year, but already she was feeling the urge to seek out the Captain again. She wanted to ask him what he knew of the not-him she'd seen in London. Of course, there was no guarantee he'd know anything at all, but there was not harm in trying. And after all, it wasn't as though there was anyone _else_ she could ask.

Locating him was not difficult, it never had been. Unfortunately, unlike most times, he was not alone and she had to wait some time for the others to leave. She wondered whether this was because of her impatience – if she hadn't decided to look for him so soon, would she have naturally found him again at a more opportune moment?

She recognized no one in the group, but that was to be expected. Only rarely had she so much as seen the others that he would call friends and even now, though she knew she couldn't talk to him when they were there, she paid them little attention. They were mortal, they aged quickly and died easily – they would likely all be gone within a few decades, so what was the point of noticing them?

Finally, they all left. "You have been waiting for the past five hours," he commented as she approached.

"I have been waiting for the past five years, actually," she corrected. "I have a question."

"Aren't you the one with all the answers?" he joked.

She smiled faintly, but refused to be deterred. "London, 1941. There was a man there who appeared from the air and he looked like you."

He suddenly looked alarmed. "You didn't try to talk to him? He didn't know you were there?"

"No. He didn't feel right," she answered, mystified by his reaction. "Why? Who was he?"

"The past," he said after a second. "He was me, from the past."

She shook her head in rejection. " _No_ , he wasn't you. He wasn't right, he was...wrong." There were not words to describe what she was trying to say, but it didn't matter, because he was nodding – he knew what she meant, with or without the words to say it.

"I don't mean he was me five years ago – I would've been in Germany in 1941," he explained. "He's from the _past_. The far past – closer to 80 years ago."

She didn't point out that, to her, 80 years wasn't a terribly long time period either. She certainly wouldn't have called it the far past. But, she noted, it _was_ still more than half his lifetime. He was going on. "And I'm not surprised you thought he was wrong. He was normal, wasn't he? Mortal. Because that version of me hadn't met the Bad Wolf yet." A distant look suddenly came into his eyes, like he was remembering something. "He probably hadn't even met the Doctor yet..." he murmured to himself.

She said nothing for the next few minutes, trying to process the idea. When she finally spoke, the words were not what she'd expected to ever say, not to him. "I don't believe you."

 _That_ pulled him out of reverie. " _What_?" he cried, shocked. "Why the hell would I lie about that? Come to think of it, why would I lie to you at all?"

Had she still had the ability to blush, she might've done so. "I – that's not what I meant," she muttered, glancing down. "It's just...he was so different. From you, that is, and so much _like_ everyone else."

He snorted. "He'd _love_ to hear you say that," he said sarcastically. "I prided myself on standing out back then. But if this is the price of being unique..." he trailed off and for a few seconds, she could _feel_ his emotions: betrayal and anger at the Doctor and impatience in waiting for him, sadness at his wife's death, discontent with his life now...but all of that paled in comparison to the overwhelming sense of boredom. It was, she realized, something that had been building since he'd arrived in 1869 and had now grown to an ache, a physical pain that was always there, just lessened occasionally.

"I wish I could die," he whispered, so softly she wasn't sure she'd heard right.

"You what?" she asked, horrified. "You _want_ to die?" She shuddered at the very thought – both of losing him and the idea of wishing for death.

"No..." he answered slowly. "But I'd like to be able to. Maybe the Doctor can help, when he comes back," he added hopefully.

She didn't say anything. The Doctor _couldn't_ help him die, she knew – not because she'd seen it, but because she knew that it couldn't be done, not by anyone.

Whether he wanted it or not, he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	14. 1953

"Why were _you_ in London?"

She turned at his voice, unsurprised that he was picking up from their last conversation like it had been only days ago, rather than years.

Nonetheless, she clarified. "In 1941? I suppose...it really _was_ you that I saw there?" He nodded. "Then I suppose I was there because I knew you were coming. I did before, too – in 1869, I mean."

She only realized that he hadn't actually known that when he looked slightly startled at the words. "Really?" It was her turn to nod. He looked thoughtful for a minute, then asked, "Do you know what a spatial-temporal rift is?" Evidently, her confusion was obvious. "Thought not. It's like a break...a break in space and time. And it can let things through from other places and times. There's one here in Cardiff."

She glanced around as though expecting to see the paving stones breaking about, but she was getting the strong sense from the Captain that that wasn't what he meant. "How long has it been here?"

"Always has been, as far as I know. What about you – how long have you been here?"

A slight smile curled her lips. "I have been in Cardiff since before it was Cardiff."

"Exactly," he said, sounding as though her answer had just proven a theory of his. "How about this: how long have you been psychic?"

"I'm not sure," she confessed slowly. "As long as I can remember, but it's gotten stronger over the centuries."

He grinned. "Natural ability, probably – something you were born with, but it's been increased by prolonged exposure to the Rift. Otherwise, it could have to do with...whatever happened. Whatever made you...like you are..." He trailed off and the question was there, plain in his tone and expression, but he didn't actually ask. He didn't need to and her silence was enough of an answer. "That might've caused it," he finished.

She shifted uncomfortably, not liking where this conversation was going. "I was only 12 at the time," she said stiffly. "Twelve years from birth to - " she cut of abruptly. "Twelve years. Does it make a difference really, which caused it?" Twelve years was next to nothing in her life.

"Guess not," he was clearly disappointed that she hadn't explained, but her reluctance to talk about it was surely obvious and he didn't press.

"Is there a point you're trying to make?" she asked shortly.

"Yes, actually," he replied. "Our connection, I'm trying to explain why we're connected like this. At first, I thought it was the immortality - "

"I am not immortal," she interrupted.

"No, I know that," he agreed. "But I thought there could be, I don't know, some sort of link between you, a psychic, and me, an immortal – just because of what we are. If that was the case though, you shouldn't have picked up on the mortal version of me, in London."

"So, what is it then?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I think it's the Rift. You've been by the Rift for, what did you say? Four and a half centuries at least?" She nodded once in confirmation. "And I've been here 80 years already, maybe not _always_ in Cardiff, but most of it. And there's the future to think about – how long are we going to stay here?"

"You think we're connected because we've both spent enough time around a...a 'break in time and space'?" she asked sceptically, eyebrows raised.

"It's possible, yes. Just a theory, but definitely possible," he shrugged.

She continued to stare for a few minutes, then she smiled. She didn't care, really, why she could always find him, why she could sometimes see his future and feel his emotions and share his thoughts. If he wanted to try and figure it out, she certainly wouldn't object, but none of it mattered to her. What mattered was that he had come and he had stayed – and, most importantly, he would _always_ be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	15. 1963

Her eyebrows were furrowed as she watched him, about 10 years later. Oddly, he didn't yet seem aware of her presence – but, he _was_ otherwise engaged. "What _are_ you doing?" she asked, both out of innocent curiosity and mild amusement.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he shot back calmly – evidently she'd been wrong to think he hadn't known she was there.

"It looks like you're breaking into a Police Telephone Box," she replied, for that was exactly what he appeared to be doing. More exactly, he was trying to unlock a Police Box, using a key that obviously didn't fit in the keyhole. Which meant it wasn't the right key – ergo, he breaking in. "Right?"

He shrugged. "I'm looking for the right one."

"Oh?"

Sighing, he gave up the fruitless effort of turning the key. "This key," he held it up. "Is a key to the Doctor's...spaceship. And the Doctor's ship looks like one of these," he pointed to the Police Box. "It's just not this one, I guess. But if I find the Doctor's ship, I find the Doctor."

She frowned. "You're not _going_ to find him, not yet," she said slowly. "I told you, remember? 'The century will turn twice before you find each other.'" she repeated her original fortune to him. "That was in 1899. How many times has the century turned since then?"

"Once," he answered reluctantly.

"And how many times must it?"

"Twice," If anything, the response was even more reluctant this time. "Look, I don't _want_ to spend another four decades waiting for him! And that's _minimum_ – do you realize your fortune could mean that I'm stuck here until the end of the 21st century?"

She bristled at the note of accusation in his voice. "I do not write the future, Captain, I only predict it," she told him coldly. "I'll thank you to remember that."

"Time can be rewritten, according to the Doctor, whether you're the one who writes it or not," he retorted. "You don't tell the absolute future, you tell a possible future. Maybe even the most likely future. But time can be rewritten, so then I sure as hell am not going to sit around patiently for the turn of the century just because _you_ say I have to!"

With that, he walked away, looking for more Police Telephone Boxes to try. She stood, watching the direction he'd gone long after he'd disappeared around a corner.

She wondered whether he was right about her fortunes. It seemed like what he'd said described what she could see about _most_ people's futures – vague events and possibilities that didn't _always_ come true, even if they usually did in some form or another. But he had always been different from everyone else. His future was clearer, seeming fairly set in stone to her. She definitely didn't think he could change anything by trying to open Police Boxes.

But she could be wrong. Just because everything felt so certain didn't necessarily mean she was right. She knew he would always be there...

For the first time, however, she wondered what that _really_ meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	16. 1991

It had been almost three decades since she'd last seen him. She wondered, sometimes, whether she'd been wrong; maybe he'd successfully tracked down the Doctor's spaceship and they'd found each other earlier than predicted. But she knew this wasn't the case. She always knew.

He was in London again, when she finally felt the need to look for him once more. When she did, he was watching a little girl playing tag with some other kids on a basketball court. "Her name's Rose," he said as the came up behind him. "Rose Tyler. She's a friend of the Doctor. Or will be, I suppose - she's only five, now."

She nodded slowly, but her lips were pursed and her eyebrows knitted as she watched the girl run. "She...she is..." It was as though a fortune were trying to form, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Yes?" he prompted, glancing at her once.

"She's light. Light and power and...and time," she spoke carefully, each word coming with difficulty. Rose Tyler had an important future, but she couldn't seem to see what it was.

"Time?" he repeated, surprised. "I guess the Doctor picked the right girl. Unless, you're seeing these things _because_ of her future with the Doctor?"

She didn't answer. The court looked strange to her, like something was missing. Staring at a brick wall across from her, she could _almost_ see words written there – graffiti that had yet to be painted. Try as she might, she couldn't make out what it would eventually say. Giving up, she noticed instead a woman with bleached-blonde hair shooting the Captain increasingly suspicious and dirty looks. Since he was still focused on Rose, she quietly pointed this woman out to him.

"Ah...yeah, that's her mother. Jackie." Glancing back at Rose once, he added, "I should go." Nodding, she followed as he turned away. "Will I ever see her again?" he asked.

"Time travel," she murmured, though not as a response. "Her future is in your past. Time travel allows you to see someone as younger after you've aged a hundred years. Who can tell the future of two time travellers? What _is_ the future of two time travellers?"

For several seconds, he seemed struck speechless. "I thought you were a fortune-teller. Telling the future is what you _do_!"

She shook her head. "When one person's future is another one's past, that's no longer fortune telling." He looked confused. "You know this girl, Rose Tyler, but she doesn't know you. You say she'll meet the Doctor, that's in her future. But it's your past, so is that fortune telling? No, that's memory," she explained. If his expression was anything to go by, the explanation didn't help much. "Look, I can't see her future – not in relation to you, at least."

"Why could you see my future in relation to the Doctor then? He's a time traveller too," he pointed out.

"Because the Doctor...that is I...I mean, well..." she trailed off. She had absolutely no idea how to answer the question. "It's just...not the same thing."

"It's exactly the same thing," he muttered, but didn't press the matter. After a few minutes of silence, he said. "I met Rose a few months after you saw me in 1941. She was hanging from a barrage balloon. Never would tell us exactly how she'd gotten there."

"What happened?" she asked. As he proceeded to tell her a story of gas mask people and a child looking for his mother, she wondered about the little girl named Rose. If nothing was rewritten and all happened as the Captain remembered, she would grow up to have the adventure. It wasn't fortune telling, of course, for him to know what would happen to her – but it wasn't exactly talking about the past, either. Something in the story broke into her thoughts. "They brought him back to life? The...the...uh..."

"Nanogenes."

"The nanogenes could bring him back to life?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

He looked taken aback and she knew why. He was surprised she was showing this interest, considering she never really had before. "I, uh, I don't know. It's Chula technology, I don't know how it works. It's all gone now, anyway, destroyed with the Chulas."

"'Now?" she asked. "What does it mean for something to be all gone 'now' – if time travel exists?" Before he could answer, she went on. "And how can the Chulas be destroyed if they have technology to bring them back to life?"

"It's complicated. Time wars, time locks. All it means is that they're gone and so is their technology," he finished firmly. "Why? Why is it important to you?"

She didn't answer, instead saying something about having to go and then left.

Time travel, space travel – breaks in time and space that brought things from other planets and times. A man who couldn't die or age. Even time wars and time locks, whatever they were. All of these had seemed right to her – inevitable, perhaps, that they happen. But technology to bring someone back to life? To really truly return life to one who had died? It was less even that the technology existed and more that he'd spoken of it so casually. Was this something common in the universe – would humans have it one day? If she waited long enough...

She didn't want to die, but she did want to live. Not live forever, like he did, just live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	17. 2000, part 1

She could feel it from a mile away. Through whatever bond connected her to the Captain came a surge of anguish and horror and loss. And need. Whatever had happened, he needed someone. He needed her.

She was running nearly before the realization was complete.

Never before had she been inside the Torchwood headquarters, though she'd long known where it was. She'd never before had any reason to go there, but now, that was where she would find him. If the overwhelming sense of loneliness she was still receiving from him was anything to go by, there was not going to be anyone else there.

When the door opened, the scene that met her eyes was one of horror. Four dead bodies were scattered around the room, the stench of blood filling the air. In the middle sat the Captain, sobbing. She said nothing, only crossed the room slowly and sat down on the floor next to him. His eyes met hers briefly before he closed them, tears falling thickly.

She knew little about comforting. In fact, she didn't know the first thing about comforting. Uncertainly, she took his hand in hers. To her relief, he accepted it and held on tightly. She felt a tiny bit of gratitude shoot through the despair. It wasn't much, but all she could do was give him what he'd given her for so long.

She was there for him. She would always be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!


	18. 2000, part 2

She didn't know how long they stayed there. He might've fallen asleep, though naturally she couldn't. When he finally looked up, the television which had been playing this whole time was giving the morning news.

"It's the twenty-first century," he said quietly. "I've waited so long for the twenty-first century. And now it doesn't even seem to matter."

"The Bad Wolf gave forever and took all else..." she murmured.

Evidently he heard her. "So this..." he waved a hand at the death around them. "This is what that fortune means? I thought it just meant that the Doctor left without me."

Shrugging slightly, she answered, "It could be interpreted either way. By granting you eternal life, the Bad Wolf ensured that no matter what, you would always survive while everything around you was destroyed, everyone around you killed – by old age if nothing else. That's not just your curse though, it's mine as well."

"How do you cope with it?"

"Mostly, I just don't form bonds with anything," she admitted slowly. "I try to see everything as fleeting, something that could be gone when I look again."

"I couldn't live like that. I _can't_ live like that." He said firmly, shaking his head.

"I know. I understand that," she answered, nodding. "What worked for me won't work for you. In truth, it didn't work for me, not really. For three-hundred years, I couldn't let myself consider anything around me to be permanent, to be important. And then – there was you. I've only survived the past century because of you."

As she spoke, she remembered that she was still holding his hand. Glancing down, she was a little startled by a realization – she'd known him for over a century, but this was the first time she ever touched him. "You're cold," he said quietly, following her gaze. "Ice cold." She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on. "It's fine," After a moment, he continued. "I've needed you, too. The world changes so fast, especially now. And you stay the same. You're constant."

She smiled. "Constant. Forever constant."

"Forever constant," he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take time to leave a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> As it says in the summary, this is a series of scenes between Jack and the girl I'm going to assume is Faith, who shows up twice in the show - once to tell Jack where to find the Resurrection Gauntlet to bring Owen back and once in 1899 to tell him that the Doctor isn't going to show up any time soon. I think the familiarity in the second scene (chronologically, though first actually show) speaks to further communication between them, hence this story. Owen will be included eventually, but not for awhile.
> 
> I plan to update once a day into the foreseeable future.
> 
> Please take time to leave a comment!


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